Three minutes into the second half of a game that had very rarely threatened to defrost, Kyle Walker looked up and slid a simple 10-yard pass for Kevin De Bruyne. There was space on the right and here was the most routine opportunity to get things moving. Nobody would think twice about a combination near halfway between teammates who, over tens of thousands of rehearsals, could complete that drill blindfolded.
The pass might have been for De Bruyne, but it never reached him. It skipped out of play, no opponent providing an excuse by applying the faintest pressure, and anyone could have been forgiven a moment to pause and wonder how it had come to this. How had two brilliant, supremely reliable elder statesmen of Manchester City’s all-conquering era become so paralysed as to fluff a move both have had off pat for seven years?
What a night this turned out to be for Juventus, whose rougher edges always looked more capable of warming the senses. City, playing from what appears a rapidly receding memory, looked stale and one‑paced compared to hosts who understood the benefits of going off script. It was perhaps the least glamorous player of all, Federico Gatti, who epitomised that and found the element of spontaneity that raised proceedings beyond the ordinary.
This is not the Juventus of old but there remains a weight, a gravitas, a downright seriousness to their home and its surroundings. A clear, icily cold December night by the Alps could, if one stretched hard enough, recall some of the more consequential affairs when Europe’s best were routinely ground down here. There is no longer a Del Piero, a Zidane, a Chiellini, a Platini, a Buffon or even a Conte. But maybe there is the knowledge that history always backs you up on this stage when you sense weakness in your foe; the kind of feeling City had worked so hard to nurture from a standing start before finally lifting this trophy last year.
Perhaps Gatti, a 26-year-old centre-back who had not operated above Italy’s third tier until 2021, was channelling that certainty when he carried the ball into City’s half, laid it off and kept going. Until then Gatti, all blocks and scraps, had contented himself with looking significantly more committed to the 50/50 than Erling Haaland. But now he was waiting in a striker’s position to execute a flying volley that was too hot for Ederson and ultimately enabled Dusan Vlahovic, via lax work from Josko Gvardiol, to capitalise.
Gatti had done what none of City’s celebrated names could bring themselves to do: break the script, stick a cat among the pigeons, add a shot of something stronger to the glass of soda. City had been too slow, too telegraphed, their only moment of genuine quality coming when De Bruyne beautifully played Haaland in for a dink that Michele Di Gregorio read. And right there was another one: Di Gregorio, brave and sharp between the posts throughout, had not played above Serie B until 2022.
Juve had the heart, the inherited understanding of what it took. At this rate Francisco Conceição might beat his father, Sergio, who would fancy a crack at Premier League management, to a stint in England. He beat Rico Lewis through sheer insistence early on and was the kind of constant, buzzing, sometimes wayward but unfailingly present menace that City’s deliberations precluded.
There were flashes from Jérémy Doku, including a driven centre across goal that begged an equaliser soon after Vlahovic struck. A few other attempts to mix things up, such as a first‑half back-heel from Jack Grealish that only brought crossed wires with Bernardo Silva, went awry. When Ederson pondered for five seconds before aiming a clearance in the direction of Haaland, who may as well have assumed hologram form save for that spurned chance, he had not counted on his colleague remaining motionless.
Weston McKennie sealed the ignominy with a joyful, crashed finish after Timothy Weah’s considered delivery. In reality there can never be shame, in isolation, through losing here. But it is patently clear City are in a mess and it would be some story if this team, among those supposed to thrive in this forgiving new Champions League format, toppled out of contention next month. The visit of a similarly flailing Paris Saint-Germain now carries a very different, but possibly more momentous, edge to their semi-final meeting of 2021. One win in 10 simply does not go and confidence, as Ilkay Gündogan suggested afterwards, looks shot.
Pep Guardiola ran his hand across his head after McKennie’s decisive intervention. At least he avoided injury this time but it is fast becoming a familiar sight. La Vecchia Signora had called the tune loudly here. For City, the fat lady may be next to open her lungs.
